Canta Per Me
by Aiseki Anrui
Summary: While on a mission to assasinate a member of the French Department of Defense, Mirielle remeets someone that she would rather nor see, and relive a pain she would rather forget. Because no one ever hurt her like Kirika did. KM OneShot. Slight AU.


**Author:** Aiseki Anrui

**Title:** Canta Per Me

**Summary**: "I…" Kirkia begins, then pauses. "Mirielle... I love you."..."No," I reply, my voice breaking as I shake my head again. "You may think you do, but you don't." Inside I feel my heart twisting and breaking. "No, you really don't." Just a short, angsty K/M fic. One-shot.

**Disclaimer:** The anime show of Noir is owned and operated by…. Not me. I'm just a humble follower of Noir, and make no profit whatsoever.

**Note:** Okay, this fic just popped up in my brain while I was listening to Canta Per Me, the BEST song on the whole Noir soundtrack. I never write Noir fic, even though I love the series so this is very new to me. The only reason this story would be plausible would be if a) Chloe survived the series and Kirika stayed with her as the true Noir, or b) this is between episodes 23 and 25. I'm voting for the earlier, so I guess this is kind of AU. In this fic's world, Chloe and Kirika are working together as the ture Noir, and Mirielle is working by herself. Mirielle knows about Kirika's murder of her parents, and about the Soldats. Anyhow, in short this fic could never happen, but I'd like to think it could. And at any rate, it's 3:10 in the morning, and anything is possible at 3:10, am I right? So, forgive me since its AU, and never possible, because I'm tired. So, why are you reading this part? Read the story! And remember to review when you're done!

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**Canta Per Me**

Guns. As far as the eye could see, there are guns. There are racks and tables, chests and boxes, shelves and bags. The whole entire room is filled with weapons, a literal sniper's dream. Not even blinking at the scene, I walk into the middle of the room. The sight no longer bothers me; I have long since grown used to my private arsenal, and it's inherent grimness.

_……Canta per me ne addio……_

Striding over to one of the many tables standing against the wall, I look at the selection. Letting my eyes sweep over the many weapons, my eye alights on one of my favorites. Taking it, I put it in the holster on my hip, and turn back to face the rest of the weapons. Licking my lips, I begin to arm myself- a gun tucked in the back of my waistline, one strapped to my leg, hidden by my signature black miniskirt. Moving over to the next table, I grab a handful of ammo, and shove it into my little black purse. On to another table- this time one with knives. One in each stiletto-heeled boot, one strapped to my left thigh. I'm armed to the tooth, and I'm ready to begin.

Turning around, I walk towards the door, and turn off the light. Slipping out quietly, I make my way through my small house, and out the front door. Locking it quickly, I stroll down the steps gracefully, and then walk down the pavement to where my car sits. Opening its' sleek black door (I have long ago discarded my fashionable red for the more practical black), I leisurely get in, and put the keys in the ignition. Yet another night for work. Yet another night alone. Sighing, I turn the car on, and begin to drive.

_……Quel dolce suono……_

Moving through the narrow Paris streets, I look over lazily at the laptop lying open on the passenger seat. _So who's up tonight, I wonder? _The screen displays the picture of a man in his forties, grey hair and moustache, smiling benignly. The name reads Remi de Lyon, who should be working right now at the French Department of Security, Paris branch. Glancing away from the computer, I change course, heading now for the Department. A high profile case, Remi de Lyon is, and it'll be fun trying to be the one who gets him first. Well, at least as much fun as I ever have, these days. And it's not much.

Ten minutes later, I'm in a block or so of the Department. Pulling into the parking lot of some library, I find a space, and park the car. A mark of a professional is to be able to get in and out smoothly, and not leave a trace of your existence. Thus, it is wise to keep the car in a place that they won't look at once the authorities find out that poor Remi is deceased. Getting out of the car, I slam the door shut, and walk away. Another mark of a professional- always leave at least one car door unlocked. In the chance that you're seen and pursued, one probably won't have time to fumble for the keys when one's being shot at. See, I'm as professional as anyone. Well, not _everyone_, I suppose.

_……De' passati giorni……_

Leaving the car park, I make my way down the block, strolling leisurely down the sidewalk on the side of the road. The cold wind that comes from the rapidly passing cars doesn't chill me one bit- things like that have ceased to affect me. I glance up at the night sky- black velvet with diamonds. Once, I would have sighed at its' beauty, but not now. Things like that have also stopped influencing me. Continuing down the sidewalk, my tall black heels click against the cement, a steady rhythm to the blaring song of accelerating cars and beeping horns. Shaking my head, I begin to focus, and get into my job mentality, the get-done-and-get-out attitude that one of my profession needs in order to survive.

A moment later, I reach the Department of Defense. Looking up at the large, white stone building, it appears more like a museum then a ministry of protection. Walking quickly up its many stone steps, I take a deep breath, and enter through the great double doors, and slip into the building.

_……Mi sempre rammenta……_

The lobby is large and spacious, with a high dome ceiling. The second floor opens out onto various balconies overhanging the large room, made of wrought and twisted iron. Shiny floors and dim lights with yellow walls. Not what one expects for the interior of France's safeguard against the world.

As expected, a security guard appears almost immediately at my side. "Miss, public hours are over," he says. "Could you please return tomorrow?"

"I have business with Remi de Lyon," I reply. "It is urgent, and cannot wait."

The man frowns, then nods. "Well, let me check upstairs. If he has you on appointment, you can go up. Now," he says, turning to go over to the desk. "What's your name-"

I whip my lucky gun out of it's' holster, and shoot the man through the back. The bullet goes in silently, and he slumps over to the ground, not making a sound. Turning away, I don't even give his body a second glance as I walk farther into the lobby. There must be more security guards- no one would leave a top government official with only one inept protector.

……_La vita dell'amore……_

Leaving the lobby behind, I walk into the hall, and almost immediately see a few guards leaning against the wall, chatting. I raise my gun, and shoot one through the throat, watching as he falls into the arms of his friends. The remaining two see me, and immediately whip out their own weapons and rush towards me. Kicking one, I pin him against the wall with my boot and fire a bullet into his stomach. The other one comes up behind me, and I reach back and grab him by the neck, holding him in place while my free hand darts underneath my arm and discharges into his chest. He falls back against the wall, and I smooth back my hair. Stepping delicately over the corpses, I move on down the hall, not looking back.

Soon, I reach the end of a hall. On one side, there is the elevator, the other, a door leading to the stairs. I automatically take the stairs- a lot more reliable in the long run. Moving from flight to flight, I climb up the stairs, until I eventually reach the floor that I seek. I slip out of the door and into another hallway, and travel its length quickly until I reach a door exactly halfway down the hall. If the maps I received by my employer were correct, then this door would lead into the lounge, which had several doors leading to different sections of the floor- cutting through here would cut my travel time in half. So, cocking my gun, I open the door a crack, and look inside. Beyond the chairs and coffee tables, there are shards of glass in the middle of the floor, pieces stained red. As I don't hear anything, I open the door slowly, and cautiously enter the room, my gun at the ready.

……_Dilette del cor mio……_

Almost immediately I'm greeted by the sight of several dead bodies, some slumped on couches, others on chairs- all have been either shot or cut with knives. A few are still holding their coffee cups. Imagine that. Nearing the centre of the room, I look up to see the source of the broken glass. They come from a skylight. Whoever it was accessed it from the roof, thereby passing the security guards in the front and avoiding time-consuming killing. It was a wonderful plan, and I'm sorry I didn't think of it, though I hate climbing on roofs and such. But in any case, whoever it was hadn't arrived too long ago- the blood sprayed on the shards of glass was still fresh and wet- I can tell from the sickening grime they leave on the bottom of my heels, and I'll have to clean them later.

Moving over to one of the couches, I lightly touch one of the corpses. The body's still warm- whoever killed them might very well still be here. Stepping away from the bodies, I cock my gun and walk slowly towards the far door. Putting my hand on the knob, I'm about to turn it when I hear a sound. The sound of moving air, as if someone was moving very quickly behind me. Immediately I whip around and point my gun around the room. Nothing. Naught but glass and blood and broken coffee cups. Biting my lip, I turn around and open the door and slip out. As I exit the room, I swear I hear the sound again, but this time I don't look back. Instead, I close the door tightly, making sure it clicks. If whoever is in there comes after me, I at least want a few seconds warning.

_… …O felice, tu anima mia……_

I move down yet another hallway, walking faster this time. I have a feeling in my heart that I know who else is here, and I don't want to meet them. _Just get the job done, and get out. _Turning the corner, I began to rush towards the end of the hall, where the last door awaits. The door to Monsieur Remi de Lyon. Reaching it, I take a deep breath. Whoever's here is in there, and I'm about to meet them, whether I like it or not. So, gripping my gun tighter in my hand, I open the door.

The room is dark, but I can see clearly. A man is sitting at the desk, one hand clasped to his chest, the other to his forehead- I assume this is Remi. Standing in front of the desk is a young girl with short dark hair. She stands in front of the cowering man, pointing a glock at his chest. "I'm sorry Monsieur Lyon," she says in that soft voice of hers that I know all too well.

_……__Canta addagio ……_

"Hmph," I say. "I suppose I'm sorry too." I raise my gun to point at the man.

Kirika whips around to look at me. Her eyes grow wide, and she opens her mouth. "Mir-"

Closing my eyes, I shoot without aiming. Long ago, I promised her that I would kill her, and not so long ago, I promised my employer that I would kill Remi de Lyon. If I kill Remi, my job is done, and I can leave. And if I kill Kirika, my life is done, and I can die in peace. After all, since Chloe and the Soldats stole her from me, what else do I have to live for? Either way, I will be at least…..partially happy, I suppose.

I hear the sound of the bullet going in, tearing through fabric and zooming into flesh. I hear the sound of someone slumping over, and I smell the pungent scent of blood splattering against the wall. Then, silence. I've killed someone, I know that much. But as to which one… I have no idea. Do I open my eyes? I'm close enough to the door that I could back out and run, and never know. _No, _I say to myself. _I have to know. Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't. _So, slowly, I open my eyes.

……_Tempra la cetra e canta……_

Mr. Remi de Lyon is slumped over the desk, blood protruding from the bullet hole that goes right through his heart. His hand hangs off the desk, and as it slowly flexes open in the dying of nerves, a picture drops to the ground. I glance down at it. Mr. Remi and his wife, surrounded by what appears to be children and grandchildren. Many amateurs would be depressed at this, and repent what they've done, but not me. I've killed many fathers and grandfathers, and I no longer regret it. Everyone is claimed by death eventually, and I have long since stopped feeling sorry for them.

"Mi-Mirielle…" Her voice gently wakes me from my thoughts.

…… _Il inno di morte ……_

Not even turning my head, my eyes flick over to examine her face. The short dark hair, the large eyes that seem to overfill with constant sadness. The face of my Kirika, of my dark angel. _No, _I think. _Not my Kirika anymore. She's Chloe's Kirika now. _Sighing, I take a step back.

"Mirielle."

I ignore her. I have to. Because if I don't…. I turn around and head towards the door.

"Mirielle," she calls.

I put my hand on the knob.

"Mirielle…"

I start to turn it.

"Mirielle, _please_." There's pleading in her voice now, and she sounds like she's about to cry. And, much as I hate to admit it, I always hated to see her cry. So I pause.

……_A noi si schiude il ciel……_

"Mirielle," Kirika begins. "I'm sorry. It's just that…." She begins to speak, but I no longer listen, I just stand there. She's trying to explain, trying to justify what she did. But Kirika doesn't have to. I know what she did, and I understand perfectly well. She left me for Chloe and the Soldats, left me for a bunch of prophecies and the name of Noir. She left me to go back to the past that she couldn't even remember. What was she looking for with them? Love? Acceptance? Security? I gave her all those things. I loved her and accepted who and what she was, even after I found out what she used to be. But Kirika needs her past, needs to be whoever she was a long time ago, because she has no idea who she is now.

After a few minutes, I grow tired of her talk. Why should she try to explain to me? She knows that I know why, but she feels the need to justify it anyway. "Enough," I say quietly. "Enough."

……_Volano al raggio……_

Kirika immediately stops. I turn the knob, and shift my weight, about to open the door. Before I can do so though, she talks again.

"Mirielle…." she says. "Wait."

I turn my head and look over my shoulder at her. She is indeed crying- silent tears are streaming down her cheeks, and her mournful eyes are filled with more to come. For a moment, my face softens at the sight; I can never bear to see her cry, even now. My heart suddenly aches, and I wish I could touch her, wish I could hold her close and tell her that it's alright, and that I want her to come back with me, to stay with me. To return to the way things used to be.

"I…" Kirika begins, then pauses. "Mirielle…. I love you."

……_La vita dell'amore……_

My face hardens immediately, and my stomach clenches at those words, those poison words. How dare she say that! How dare she joke and presume to say that after all she's done to me! Does she think that I'll melt, that I'll forgive her? Does she think she can undo all the hurts with those three words? I close my eyes to keep my own tears from falling. "No," I say softly, shaking my head. "If you did, you wouldn't have left me. Kirika, you don't love me at all."

"But Mirielle, I do, I-"

"No," I reply, my voice breaking as I shake my head again. "You may think you do, but you don't." Inside I feel my heart twisting and breaking. "No, you really don't." I turn away, and open the door.

"Mirielle!"

……_Dilette del cor mio……_

That's the first time I've ever heard her voice above a whisper. Her voice is filled with sorrow and regret, overflowing with begging and pleading. Opening my eyes, I look back at her. She's falling to her knees now, the tears flowing down her face like a river.

"Mirielle…."

I turn away and walk out of the room and into the hall.

"Mirielle, _please_!"

I look to the left of me, the way I came, only to see Chloe leaning against the wall. I have no idea how long she's been here, but I'm sure she heard every word. I knew that she was the one in the lounge, and I knew she would follow me.

Chloe stares at me with those cold-fire eyes, a mixture of jealousy and hate. "Even now," she whispers at me. "Even now, though I have her, and things are the way they're supposed to be, inside she's still yours."

I say nothing, not trusting myself to speak. I turn away from her, towards the part of the hall that I haven't walked through already. I take a few steps that way, knowing that Chloe won't try to hurt me- Kirika wouldn't forgive her if she did. I pause at the last moment though, and glance back through the doorway. Kirika's slumped to the ground, crying softly, the sobs wracking her chest. "Mirielle….."

……_O felice, tu anima mia……_

Biting my lip to keep myself from sobbing, I walk away, leaving the two true Noir alone to take care of each other. Turning the corner, I head back towards the stairwell, my heart and mind rushing with turbulent thoughts. I loved Kirika, I love her still, and I will until the day I die. But she doesn't know who or what she really wants. She's so caught up in the prophecy of Noir, that she can't decide whether or not she wants that, or something more normal, more real.

I'm not part of the true Noir, I never was. And I stopped being Mirielle Bouquet the day my parents died. I'm just Mirielle now, plain Mirielle. And no matter what Kirika thought she wanted, Mirielle wasn't good enough for her. She needed something darker, something more threatening. Kirika needed Noir, but now that she has it, she doesn't want it anymore. And now it's too late. For both of us.

"Goodbye, Kirika."

……_Canta Addio……_


End file.
